


A Quiet Night

by Avelyesqe



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Uhm, i don't even really know if i even ship this bUT I GUESS I DO, i guess, kind of, other amis are mentioned, this is fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avelyesqe/pseuds/Avelyesqe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Combeferre’s offer to go to the opera had been such a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Night

Eponine looks up into Combeferre’s eyes. He’s smiling softly and caresses her face exactly where the light hits. It’s dark, but the weather is nice, so they’re outside standing on the sidewalk in front of Combeferre’s flat. The sky is cloudy, so the only light is from the streetlamp.   
  
She doesn’t know what to say or what to tell him. They had just gotten back from the opera. Combeferre had bought the tickets. He invited her because he figured she might enjoy it and as things between Cosette and Marius continued to go well, she began to look more and more downtrodden at their meetings. They stand there in silence, staring at each other intently.

It had been a nice night. Combeferre, in addition to buying the tickets, had also bought dinner for the two of them at a restaurant that was pricey enough that Eponine had only ever seen the outside. The dinner was delicious and both of them had dressed to the nines: Combeferre in a classic black and white suit, and Eponine in a long royal blue satin dress that glimmered in the soft light of the restaurant. The dress had been a splurge for Eponine. She had saw it in a store window while she was out with Cosette and instantly fell in love with it. It was everything her parents had promised her when she was young: expensive, elegant, high class, beautiful. Cosette (bless her) was the one who encouraged her to go in and try it on, despite Eponine’s protests of “you know I can’t afford it,” and “it won’t even look good on me” (hint: it did). Cosette bought it for her after she promised Eponine that she would let her pay it back (“Honestly, ‘Ponine, it’s not that expensive, but if you really want to pay me back, I suppose I’ll have to let you). When she wore it, Eponine felt as if she owned the world and as if she maybe, _just maybe_ , could get Marius to love her in it.

But she knew it was just a dream and the dress spent most of its days on a hanger in her closet. With no to impress and no place to where it to, it rarely was worn (and Eponine won’t tell anyone about the particularly bad days when she puts it on and stares at her reflection, wishing). So besides those moments of weakness, Eponine went about being as strong as she could. She was proud, snarky, and admittedly moderately hard to approach (“Hey Eponine?” “Yeah?” “Could you help me get this jar off the shelf?” “I dunno, could you get your hands off your boyfriend while you’re in my kitchen?”). That’s why Combeferre’s offer to go to the opera had been such a surprise.

Eponine, Combeferre found, could be exceedingly charming when she wanted to be. He usually associated her with being the hard-ass, tough-as-nails type, but he found himself smiling gently when she laughed and staring when she wasn’t looking. He usually didn’t talk to her. He didn’t avoid her, not at all, but they didn’t share many common interests and they didn’t really have any need to associate most of the time (“Hey, Combeferre.” “Hello.” “Can you open this jar for me?” “Pickles?” “I’m making a sandwich. Do you want one?” “Yes, please.” “Okay. You need to open the jar first.” “Right.”). But Combeferre being kind, highly observant, and genuinely concerned about everyone in their little group noticed Eponine’s face when Cosette and Marius walked in together, or left together, or really did anything together at all. He knows she talks to Grantaire about it (“She’s not angry?” “Of course not, he’s happy. The only thing she could really ask for is for him to be happy with her.”), but Grantaire is often busied with being drunk, or cynical, or ogling Enjolras (“I do not ogle.” “Yes, you do Grantaire. It’s really quite distracting. How am I supposed to be upset about how absolutely adorable Marius and Cosette are when you’re just sitting over there and downright staring at Enjolras’ ass.” “Shut up, ‘Ponine.” “She’s right, you know.” “You too, Combeferre. Aren’t you supposed to actually pay attention to Enjolras?”). 

But tonight he found that Eponine was sweet and kind when she wasn’t being sad or sassy. He found a softer side to the usually rough-around-the-edges girl. Their silences, as well as their conversations, were easy and comfortable. Nothing was awkward and there wasn’t any pressure on either of them to pretend to be anything at all. They were allowed to enjoy the dinner, enjoy the show, and enjoy the company of each other all while being themselves.

“Tonight was nice,” Combeferre says as he drops his hand. She nods in response, but doesn’t say anything. She just looks at him.  
  
Something flickers across her face. Combeferre sees it, but he can’t name it. He barely had time to notice it; there and gone without a trace. Suddenly she’s very close to him and pushing his glasses back up.   
  
“They were falling,” she explains.

He nods. “Thank you.”

Another flicker. Combeferre gets closer to finding the right word. Questioning? No. Thoughtful? No. He looks at her face, trying to find any lingering traces of the expression. He finds none and instead notices the way her lips are slightly parted, words delicately balanced on them, ready to fall at any moment. They close. Another flicker. Regret? No. Nervous? No.  
  
“Would you like to come in?” He asks, gesturing to the door. The expression flits across her face.

“Sure.”

They go inside and they sit on his couch after he makes them both coffee. It’s quite late. Despite both of them being curiously silent and highly observant, the silence isn’t awkward and the tension is nonexistent. However, something hangs in the air above them, and they’re both waiting for it to fall. Anticipation more than anything else.

Eponine finishes her coffee first (or just decides she doesn’t want anymore) and puts the mug on the table. She’s curled up, legs bent and pulled under her, in one corner of the couch while Combeferre sits on the other side.

“I,” she starts, hesitant. But Combeferre stops her by putting his coffee down with a clank. He looks at her apologetically.   
“Sorry, go on.”   
She nods and continues. “I had a really great time tonight.”  
He smiles, “as did I.” He sees the flicker again. Curiosity? No. Confusion? No.

“You know,” she starts again, “how I feel about Marius.”   
He gives a curt nod, still trying to identify the look that keeps crossing her face. She looks away from him and her eyes glance about. She could be surveying his living room, but he knows better than that. When she turns back the look is back on her face. She speaks again.  
“There’s something about you, Combeferre.” ( _That’s it._ He thinks. _Confliction._ ) “Something soft, and gentle. Something wide open, like I could just—” she struggles. “Like I could just touch you and suddenly know everything I ever needed to.”

She pauses and just _looks_ at him. It’s not offensive or sad. It’s just a particularly intense look which could be considered awkward and uncomfortable if he weren’t Combeferre and the world around him wasn’t melting away and Eponine wasn’t the only thing that existed and she’s _right there_ across from him, literally only a foot or so away—

“You’re protective and warm and happy, and I just don’t know if this-, if I-, if we…could ever be anything? Tonight was great, honestly, but I just don’t know. There’s so much about you that is everything I could ever need and want and hope for, but…” she stops.  
  
“But?”   
  
“But,” she shrugs. “There’s Marius and at this point it’s almost like a routine of loving him. Sometimes I wonder if I still do but then I see him again and he just reminds me of why I started in the first place.” Another shrug. “Sometimes I just wish that I had never met him or any of you because it’d just be easier. I’d be with my dad and his lousy friends, but I wouldn’t _care_ so much, you know? Without you guys, I’d just be—“   
  
She’s stopped by Combeferre’s lips suddenly being on hers. After the moment of initial shocks passes, she kisses him back.   
  
It’s nothing big, really. No tongue, nothing heated. But it _feels_ like something more, and Eponine finds herself almost breathless when Combeferre pulls back. His hands keep her leaned closed to him and he keeps their foreheads touching.  
  
“Don’t say that, Eponine.”   
“What?”  
“Don’t say that you wish you had never met us.”   
  
He pulls back a little farther so he can look into her eyes, gauge her reaction. They’re not touching anymore but he’s still holding her and they’re still awfully close.   
She pushes his glasses back up.  
“Make me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive my errors. They'll be fixed as I find them.


End file.
